


Take Me Home

by hunenka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dark, M/M, Post-Hell, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 09:51:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2305460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunenka/pseuds/hunenka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn’t Alastair, and this isn’t Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [somersault_j](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somersault_j/gifts).



This isn’t Alastair, and this isn’t Hell. Dean knows that.

There’s no smell of sulfur, no stench of burnt skin and rotting flesh, only Sam’s clean, fresh sweat and a faint trace of detergent from the motel sheets. There’s no taste of decay and bile when Sam’s tongue slips inside Dean’s mouth, only saliva and a slight hint of beer.

Sam’s blanketing Dean with his body, not crushing him, and he uses actual lube to ease his way inside Dean, not blood. And sure, he’s big, but it’s nowhere near that barbed monstrosity that hung between Alastair’s legs, and still he’s being careful. Taking it slow.

It hurts a little regardless, but Sam takes the pain away with soothing palms sliding down Dean’s flanks, with gentle kisses peppered across Dean’s face. He’s making it better instead of making it worse.

“God, Dean, I missed you so much,” he’s whispering, over and over.

Dean can’t handle it, the wrongness of this, the foreignness, the unfamiliarity of sex like this. Making love, Sam calls it. He doesn’t know what to do with it, barely remembers it, just a faded, distant memory in the smallest, darkest corner of his mind where he hid it decades ago in hope that Hell wouldn’t reach it there, wouldn’t taint it with its darkness.

But the darkness of the Pit swallows everything; endless, bottomless, always hungry for more. Light is no match for it.

“So beautiful, so perfect for me,” Sam is saying now, reverent and proud. “You’re mine, Dean, all mine. I love you, Dean. I’m never gonna let you go.”

And finally, this is something Dean knows, so he closes his eyes, listens to the words, lets Sam’s voice morph into a different one, smooth and oily and black like tar, soaking into Dean’s skin and into his soul, and pretends he’s back where he belongs.


End file.
